The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Finn wondered if now would be such a time in Verendal.

  Those in the poorer sections of the city had often followed the gods closely.

  What would they have done now?

  “I imagine you’ve had times when you needed the gods and found a devotion to them that you didn’t otherwise have.”

  Finn nodded slowly. “I think most would make that claim.”

  “Or would most simply feel as if they needed to say what they believe the priests and the gods would ask of them, regardless?”

  Finn knew the answer to that. He’d seen it often enough in his time questioning men. Oftentimes, men feigned piousness and devotion to the gods, anything that would hopefully exonerate them. Finn had learned how to suss that out, how to pick apart men who were merely making claims of their religiosity, and uncover the truth.

  “I suppose many would claim otherwise,” Finn said.

  “Unfortunately,” the priest told him. “Many men find the gods only in times of need. I’ve been working with the people of Weverth to help them find the gods as a way to celebrate their daily life. All men need to have a better understanding of the gods, and if they have the opportunity to do so in their day-to-day activities, then they can fully understand just what the gods ask of them.” He smiled tightly, looking over to Finn then back to the door leading into the church. “I trust your rest was adequate?”

  “Adequate,” Finn said. He glanced down to the sword. “Did somebody move my blade?”

  The sword hadn’t been resting in the same way he had left it. Finn was particular about it, having learned that lesson very early on in his work with Master Meyer. The sword was well cared for, and he made certain to keep it oiled, sharpened, and prepared for anything he might need it for.

  “I’m afraid that was me,” the priest said, smiling slightly. “I went in to check on you before the service and I tripped.” He shook his head. “A wonder you didn’t hear the commotion. I tried to replace it so it would be where you left it, but…” He spread his hands off to the side and shook his head. “Unfortunately, I must not have set it quite as you would have.”

  Finn nodded. “I must’ve been sleeping too soundly.”

  “Obviously,” the priest said. “The noise made when I tripped on it was incredible.” He looked up at Finn. “Are you ready to carry out the sentencing?”

  “Only if it is what the village still wants.”

  “I think the village recognizes that Mr. Martin has disrupted life within the village enough that we see the need to remove him before he violates the will of the gods and men again.”

  Finn nodded.

  As they started out of the church, the priest looked over to him. “Do you think he deserves otherwise?”

  “I think he could be imprisoned, if that is your desire, or perhaps even exiled from the village itself.”

  “Would that satisfy the needs of the gods?”

  Finn paused at the entrance into the church, looking out over the village. A small crowd had gathered around the outside of the church, seemingly waiting for him and the priest to depart. A light fog hung over the village, drifting through the streets, giving a dampness to the air.

  “I’m not concerned about satisfying the needs of the gods,” Finn said. “As I told you, I am responsible for enacting the king’s justice, not that of the gods. The gods can manage well enough on their own.”

  “We’re on the edge of the kingdom out here, Mr. Jagger. The king does not come to Weverth, and you are the first servant of his to have visited—and for this reason.” He made a motion toward his chest, signaling to Fell. “The gods look over all—even here, where the king does not look upon us.” He glanced over to Finn again, then his gaze drifted to the sword. “If it is easier, perhaps you can use the blade. As I said last night, the village doesn’t have a preference for what manner of execution you choose.”

  That was unusual enough to make Finn hesitate.

  Most of the time when he came to places like this, the villagers already had a sentencing in mind. They viewed themselves as similar to Verendal, casting their judgment and declaring the sentencing; they often felt as if they should be the ones to decide how and where it was carried out.

  They made their way through the streets, heading toward the small home at the outskirts of the city, and the crowd followed behind them. Finn kept his gaze locked straight ahead of him, focused on the task at hand.

  Normally when he carried out an execution, he wanted to have a breakfast to settle his stomach, to have the time to steel himself for what must come, but today, given what he needed to do, Finn wanted nothing more than to just finish this task and leave Weverth.

  The longer he was here, the more he felt as if he would rather be anywhere else.

  When they reached the home, the priest barely paused before pushing open the door, guiding Finn to it, and stepping inside, where the stench struck Finn again.

  He found Lyle Martin lying curled up on the ground near the wall, the chains wrapped around him, as if he was using them to protect himself. If he did have any sort of witchcraft abilities, it wouldn’t surprise Finn that he had the chains wrapped around him as a way of somehow freeing himself from them. Then again, if Lyle Martin had some way of breaking free of the chains, Finn would’ve expected he would’ve done it by now.

  “Get up,” the priest said.

  Finn glanced over. “I will take it from here.”

  The priest pressed his lips together, frowning. “I thought I could help.”

  Finn just shook his head, staring straight ahead. “Now that you’ve passed your judgment and decided sentencing, I will take it from here.” He nodded slightly to the priest. “There should be five men escorting him to where the sentence will be carried out. And, of course, you may accompany him to say whatever words are appropriate.”

  “You wouldn’t do it here?”

  Finn shot him a look, unable to conceal the surprise in his eyes. “Here?”

  “I just thought… I’m sorry. I don’t know the intricacies of the nature of your work, Mr. Jagger.”

  “It should not be here.”

  “We have a place that is not far from the village. Perhaps that would be better.”

  Finn shook his head slightly. It wasn’t uncommon for him to deal with people ignorant of his process, but he would’ve expected some sort of preparation. Why would they have ever wanted him to execute Lyle in this place?

  “Have them prepare to escort him away.”

  The priest slipped away.

  Finn stepped forward. “Lyle Martin. I, Finn Jagger, executioner to King Porman, have come to carry out sentencing. The citizens and leaders of the village of Weverth have convicted you of crimes against the dead. In accordance with their customs, you have been sentenced to die.”

  Lyle turned his head slightly and stretched, straining his neck just a little bit and working his arms, before he regarded Finn with darkness burning in his gaze. “Unclean.”

  “If that is all you have to say for yourself, then I am afraid I cannot intervene any further.”

  Finn wasn’t convinced this was the right sentence. Not yet. Still, he wasn’t convinced it was the wrong sentence. It was strange to feel that way, and stranger still that he didn’t know whether he should get more involved or less.

  Several men stepped into the home, coming up behind Finn, who moved off to the side.

  “Bring him to the site of the execution,” Finn said.

  One of the men was large and muscular with long dark hair. He had a tattoo along his neck and wore a deep-gray shirt. “You want us to grab him? He stinks,” the man said, frowning. “They said the bastard was found fucking Gill’s dead wife.”

  “Like I said, grab him and remove him from here.”

  Finn stepped back outside.

  A bigger crowd had formed. He swept his gaze around and started to think that perhaps it was everybody from the village. That wasn’t terribly uncommon. When he came to villages like t
his, most of the time, they treated Finn’s work like a spectacle, though it was less of a festival than it was in Verendal. There the city streets were littered with hawkers selling food, crafts, and other items, a spirited excitement in the air—and the longer he carried out executions, the more it felt off for Finn.

  The priest stepped up next to him. “You still aren’t convinced.”

  Finn looked over. “What makes you say that?”

  The priest shrugged. “I can see it in your eyes. You aren’t sure you are doing what you need to do. I know men,” the priest said. “And I know the hearts of men.”

  Finn turned away, moving his attention back to the door where the villagers had started to drag Lyle out. Two of them carried the chains, which were still attached to him, while three of them stood around Lyle, escorting him out of the home. As soon as he stepped out, the crowd began to cry out—loud, angry shouts threatening violence against him.

  “You know the hearts of men so well that you know mine?”

  “I suspect you have a surprising softness to you, Mr. Jagger. I expected a bit more darkness within you.”

  “Because I’m an executioner?”

  “Because of the nature of your work.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be able to blame you for that though. I suspect that anyone in your position, surrounded by the darkness you find yourself surrounded by at all times, would find themselves hardened to it. Much like healers find themselves hardened to the smells and sights of their work, or midwives to the experience of birthing.”

  “What about priests?”

  “Why, priests have a proximity to the gods that others do not. That gives us a familiarity with them that most cannot claim.” He nodded to Lyle. “And it helps us to know when some men have been twisted beyond redemption.” The priest nodded. “Come, Mr. Jagger. If you have hardened your heart enough for you to carry out the sentencing, then let us be on with it.”

  They marched off, making their way through the streets, then out and to the north. From there, they headed along a narrow, wooded path between the trees, then to a small clearing filled with broken stone, tall grasses, and pale-yellow flowers with a pungent aroma.

  The men guided Lyle to the center of the pile of rock and stood around him. The two men holding on to the chains carried them behind the rock, hooking them onto a metal stake Finn hadn’t seen. So much for them not having prepared for this. They obviously had something more in mind than they had let on from the beginning.

  Finn focused on Lyle, ignoring the crowd growing around him. He approached the man, now once again chained to a structure, and regarded him out in the daylight. There was something eccentric about him, though Finn couldn’t quite place what it was—but he knew it was more than just his foul odor. Perhaps it was the way he looked at Finn, an almost knowing look in his eyes, something that suggested he understood what was going on far more than he had revealed.

  Finn turned to the others. “You may go,” he said to the men surrounding Lyle.

  The larger man spat at Lyle before shooting a dark glare at Finn then taking his place with the rest of the crowd.

  The others looked as if they, too, wanted to spit at Lyle before taking their place.

  Finn looked over to Lyle. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  He watched Finn, then his gaze drifted past him, before finally turning to the crowd. “Unclean,” he said.

  At this point, he just wanted to get this over with, but at the same time, he felt as if he had an obligation to ensure he was carrying out the king’s justice in the way he had been trained to do. He didn’t want to simply carry out the sentencing without ensuring he had all of the information he needed, but Finn didn’t know if he had.

  He took a deep breath. “Do you intend to say anything more?” Finn asked the priest softly.

  “There is nothing more that can be said for him. He has defiled the gods through his actions, and the gods will not welcome him.”

  Finn turned. “All men are given an opportunity to return to the gods,” he said.

  “Perhaps all men, but not this man. As I said, he has defiled the gods through his actions. They will not welcome him back.”

  Did that make it harder or easier? Perhaps knowing what the man had done, and knowing he had intended to perform some dark ceremony, should be enough for Finn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as if he wanted to know more—as if he needed to know more. The man had done something so unusual, and so unnatural, that Finn was almost morbidly curious as to the reason behind it.

  He turned to Lyle. It was time this ended.

  “May the gods have mercy on you,” Finn said.

  The priest laughed bitterly. “The gods will not be offering this one mercy.”

  Finn motioned with the sword.

  Lyle didn’t move.

  “Have him kneel,” Finn said to the priest.

  “You are the executioner. Why would I need to have him kneel?”

  “Have your people have him kneel,” Finn said.

  “Again, you are the executioner.”

  Finn glared at him for a moment.

  He approached Lyle, standing in front of him. “I intend to offer you an honorable death.”

  There was something knowing in the man’s eyes.

  “All you need to do is kneel. Leave this world with honor.”

  If there was one thing Finn did believe in, it was the opportunity for an honorable death. For whatever reason, that mattered to him. His time in the city, time spent with Master Meyer, had made him have an appreciation for giving men that option. Too many were given the rope, and too many left the world without an option for honor.

  Maybe that came from what Finn had gone through; when he was nearly hanged, he had felt as if there was no real honor in it. Or maybe it simply stemmed from his belief that most men deserved to have a quick, relatively painless death.

  Lyle looked over to him, then he looked at the sword Finn held, as if seeing it for the first time.

  What he did next surprised Finn.

  He dropped to his knees, looked up at Finn, and held his gaze.

  Finn brought the sword up, stood behind Lyle, and paused for a moment, looking at the people gathered around him.

  “May the gods have mercy,” Finn said softly.

  He brought the blade down in a quick strike.

  Chapter Eleven

  After the priest paid him—reluctantly, Finn noticed—he started toward the edge of the village, walking the horse. His pack was attached to the saddle, his sword slipped through it, now cleaned and oiled.

  “You intend to go already?”

  Finn looked back at Olanth. He had followed Finn to the edge of the town and carried with him a canister. He stood there watching Finn.

  “There’s no reason for me to stay,” Finn said, looking back at the village. The streets had more activity now than they'd had earlier. Now that Lyle had been executed, they could go about their day once again, as if for some reason, whatever Lyle had been doing had been holding them up from living their lives.

  “I thought you would have an opportunity to share more stories with me.”

  Finn just shook his head, holding on to the reins of the horse. “I have no intention of staying here any longer than needed. Besides, your people need to grieve.”

  “I doubt many people are going to grieve him,” Olanth said.

  “All men should be grieved,” Finn said.

  “Even when they did what he did?”

  Finn shook his head. “Even then. Perhaps even especially then. One of the things I’ve learned in my time as executioner is that even the most awful person has somebody who cares for them and will miss them, regardless of the crimes they’ve committed.” Maybe not Lyle. He’d seen where and how he’d lived.

  “He didn’t have any family,” Olanth said. “He lived out there for as long as anyone’s remembered.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Never wanted to leave that strange build
ing, which was odd, if you ask me.”

  “There are some people who have a predilection to Alainsith items,” Finn said.

  “Alainsith?” Olanth looked over to him. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because his home was Alainsith.” Finn shrugged. “There are quite a few like that scattered throughout the kingdom. Especially in these lands. You get out into the forest, and you can find buildings like that. Some of them are larger or older than others, but all are Alainsith.”

  “I never would’ve guessed,” Olanth said.

  “I’m not so sure that it makes a difference.”

  “Maybe he stayed out there because he had some ties to those people.”

  Finn shook his head. “The Alainsith left these lands a long time ago.”

  “You sound almost as if you have some experience with them.”

  Finn just shrugged. “Some, though I can’t say I know them.”

  Olanth looked over to the horse. “You said you were going to give me a ride.”

  “And I would have, but unfortunately, I need to be getting back.”

  “Are you sure you can’t stay another night?”

  He frowned. “Very few people are eager to have an executioner stay with them any longer than necessary.”

  “I don’t know. You might find Weverth is a little bit more open and understanding than other places.”

  Finn doubted that. He didn’t know Weverth all that well, but his opinion of it was that it certainly wasn’t more welcoming than other places he had been—and with the way it was guided by the priest of Fell, it seemed almost less welcoming than some.

  “Like I said. I need to be going.”

  “Would you return if we had need of your services again?”

  Finn frowned at him. “Why would you have need of an executioner again? Do you think your people intend to do something that would require me to return?”